


Ties That Bind

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 13:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski was unusual. Unusually unique. Different. He was different.</p><p>Stiles did quirky things that didn’t make sense to Derek. He was different from everything Derek knew.</p><p>And Derek loved him for it. </p><p>Or, five times Stiles tried to tell Derek what he was, and the one time Derek figured it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> I wanted to try my hand at the old 5+1 things. I had this idea for a while, and finally managed to finish it. I really hope you like it, and that you are genuinely surprised.

Stiles Stilinski was unusual. Unusually unique.

Different. He was different.

Stiles did quirky things that didn’t make sense to Derek. He didn’t have a simple answer for things, constantly going into depth and detail to make sure every aspect was understood by the pack before moving on. He didn’t have a brain to mouth filter for everything he said. He didn’t focus on one thing at a time—he chose to focus on several.

So, different. He was different from everything Derek knew.

And Derek loved him for it. Which was why, Stiles standing in front of him right now, apologizing for being _unable_ to fully return his feelings, was such a blow. He was floored, staring at Stiles’ back in confusion.

Stiles hesitated before turning to look at Derek. “I … I have something for you,” he explained as he opened his messenger bag. He pulled out a leather bound journal, his hands tightly clasping it. “This explains everything,” he stated. “But don’t … don’t read it until tomorrow.”

Derek looked down at the journal, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at it with mild distain. “If this is your way of saying that everything was a mistake—”

“No!” Stiles hurriedly exclaimed.

“Is it the age difference?” Derek asked, not knowing what had gone wrong in the past twelve hours to make Stiles suddenly reject him. Maybe he read the signs wrong, maybe he was never good at flirting or dating and didn’t know what he was doing. There were a lot of maybes.

“No. It’s not that. I knew that we could never … I knew it’d never work … That came out wrong,” Stiles uttered. “Everything that has happened between us has been amazing—you’re amazing. And this,” he tapped his fingertips on the journal’s cover. “This explains why I can’t be with you.” He released a broken breath. “You don’t have to read it, I just … hope you do.” He placed the journal on the coffee table. He nodded to himself, backing away from Derek. He played with the strap of his bag, looking up at Derek. He took a hesitant step forward, halting when he saw the way Derek fought to hold back a flinch.

Stiles released a sad laugh. “I’m the worst. Sorry, I should—” he gestured towards the loft door. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. Sorry … God, I’m so sorry,” he uttered with tears in his eyes as he turned from Derek, fleeing the loft.

Derek eyed the journal, stubbornly turning his back on the book.

Things were suddenly quiet, no fae, no trolls, no fights. It all came crashing down around Derek when Lydia came to the loft.

“Have you seen Stiles?” Lydia asked, a pensive look pulling at her soft features.

“He came by a few days ago,” Derek explained, keeping the details to himself.

“Scott says he hasn’t seen him since then. Stiles told him that he was coming to the loft to talk with you,” Lydia stated.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Derek replied.

“Just … if you see the little spaz, tell him he owes me a crash course on all the texts he’s been brushing up on,” Lydia stated, her lips pouting a bit as she thought of what to say. “And tell him I’m worried.”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded. He waited for Lydia to leave before pacing some. His eyes fell on the journal. His conscience picked at him, wondering if he somehow made Stiles disappear by ignoring the journal—which was absurd. Stiles was probably avoiding him by taking a vacation from town. He plopped down onto the couch, snatching up the journal. His hands itched to rip open the journal, maybe even burn it into nonexistence. He was careful with the leather covering, slipping it off the outside. It was strange to see a journal with a leather covering.

Derek took a deep breath before settling on reading the first page.

_It’s weird to hear that your whole life has been a lie._

_Part of me wants to blame dad, but I know I can’t—it’s mom’s fault, I guess. But when it all comes down to it, it doesn’t matter. I’m still going to die at 18._

Derek read the last sentence several times.

_I knew I was in trouble the moment I saw him. Dad kept me home schooled because he knew it’d happen. Who thought someone with an expiration date could fall in love. God, I just said fall in love. I guess I can say that. All the signs are there. Nervousness. Sweaty palms. Euphoric daze. Smiling like an idiot. Wanting to kiss his perfectly stupid face (maybe even those eyebrows deserve some loving)._

_There were different times I knew I loved him. But does he love me? I guess that’s what tonight is for—I’m prepared to give up prom and my birthday party for him. I wonder if he went to prom? I guess it’s not ‘giving up’ anything when I want to spend it with him._

_I think I knew I loved him when he took my insecurities and protected me from having to face them. When he saw my anomalies as quirks of uniqueness. When he looked at me like I was a person._

_So, I like Derek Hale. No … I love Derek Hale._

~*~

**1.**

_I think Derek started to notice something was different about me the day I admitted to knowing more about dead languages than Lydia. It’s insane—no one knows more about dead languages than Lydia. It’s funny to think that I, off all people, knew the textbook answer._

Derek was carefully watching the way the pack crowded over the table. There were various books covering the table, the teens all focused on a different one. That was the day Derek started to question Stiles.

“That's because it's dative,” Stiles corrected Lydia.

The entire room was silent as they all stared at Stiles before looking at Lydia.

“Stiles, I think Lydia would know,” Scott offered.

“No,” Lydia suddenly countered, staring at the book. “No, Stiles is right. It's irregular—I can't believe I missed that.”

Stiles nodded, turning back to his own book, a soft smile pulling at his lips. He had told the pack that he was working on getting better at researching alchemy and mythology, but never mentioned that he had been dabbling in archaic dead languages. Ever since he got his GED, Stiles had become increasingly ambitious in teaching himself new things. He still participated in meeting Scott after school and practicing lacrosse with him. Stiles was always introverted, but took an interest in socializing. He always said that he had spare time on his hands.

Derek eyed Stiles the rest of the night, watching him laugh and smile with the pack, a small glint of something hidden in the depths of his eyes. He couldn’t figure it out, but there was something different about Stiles than the rest. From the moment they met, Derek knew.

“Where did that come from?” Derek asked as Stiles packed up.

Stiles looked up at Derek, cocking his head to the side. “What from where?”

“Where did you learn archaic Latin from?” Derek specified.

“You’d be amazed what you can find in books,” Stiles answered.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t a truth. Stiles’ heartbeat ticked for a brief second.

“You sure that’s it?” Derek lightly questioned.

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, looking up at Derek. “It’s nothing, Derek. A fluke that I happened to get right.” He smiled at him.

“Well, good job,” Derek answered.

“Thanks,” Stiles stated, his scent turning towards a preening confidence—satisfaction that he managed to get a compliment from Derek.

~*~

**2.**

_I think I knew Derek wasn’t going to push anymore the night the troll turned out to be the fae. He was nicer than I thought he’d be—it’s funny when thinking about Derek having a soft spot for me. When I met him, I was so intrigued. I was scared that he’d figure it all out. Now it almost seems laughable that he accepted me for me, when I was so determined to figure out who he was beneath the leather jacket and scowling eyebrows, so set on seeing him differently._

Stiles stared at the water with uncertain eyes. He scowled some, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. “Maybe I could … just hang back,” he offered.

“Hang back?” Scott skeptically asked.

“Yeah, you don’t need me in there—getting in the way,” Stiles replied.

“Stiles, you love getting in the way,” Scott stated.

Stiles gave him a fond shove. “I just don’t think I’ll be very handy.”

Derek could smell the uncertainty rolling off of Stiles. There was a faint, bittersweet tang of fear tainting Stiles’ normally welcoming scent. He looked from Stiles to Scott. “If he wants to stay back, he should stay back.”

Stiles nodded. “What Derek said.”

“Okay,” Scott replied, dragging out the vowels as he turned towards the others.

“Trolls in general freak me out,” Stiles added, moving to stand near Derek—as far away from the water as possible.

“Since when are you afraid of water?” Derek asked as he shed his leather jacket, his eyes focusing on the water.

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve never liked water,” he honestly stated. “It’s unstable—unpredictable. You have no idea what is lurking underneath. You can’t stay wet for long or you get all pruney.”

Derek snorted. “You held me up in a pool for two hours.”

“Yeah, well, you know … your life takes precedence over my fear of water.”

“Thanks,” Derek answered. “I appreciate that.”

Stiles rhythmically nodded. He looked up at Derek through his eyelashes. He quickly looked away when he noticed Derek was staring at him. He looked over at the rest of the pack, waiting for Derek to go on his way, leading the search for the missing troll through the eerily foggy swamp water.

Derek silently moved passed Stiles, dropping his jacket on Stiles’ head. “Look after that,” he commented after Stiles squawked in response.

Stiles mockingly glared at Derek’s back, tightly hugging the jacket against his chest. He ran his fingers over the material, committing the feeling to memory.

Derek took one last look at Stiles before focusing on the others.

Stiles waited until the pack had their backs towards him before slipping the jacket on. He stretched his arms some, playing with the cuffs of Derek’s jacket as he measured how the sleeves almost fit him. He smiled to himself as he waved his arms around in the jacket.

Derek couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips as the idea of Stiles wearing his jacket became an increasingly appealing thought. He liked the way it fit around Stiles, hugging around his shoulders in a protective manner. He turned and glared at Erica when she flicked his ear in reprimand for staring at Stiles.

When the pack started to move out, Stiles offered Derek a small wave, his fingertips the only visible part of his hand.

Almost an hour passed when Stiles started to worry. He paced by the swamp, his eyes focused on the water. He tried to talk himself down, rationalizing that it was nothing to be worried about. He heard distant shouts and loud noises, causing him to perk up.

Stiles rushed forward when he heard a yell, stumbling a stop when the tips of his shoes sunk in the thick mud of the swamp. He backpedaled, stepping away from the water as quick as possible. He nibbled his lip as he watched for a sign of the others. His stomach clenched when he saw Isaac and Boyd carrying an unconscious and wounded Derek.

“What happened?” Stiles yelled, moving out of the two werewolves’ way. He stared at Derek as he moved beside them.

“It wasn’t a troll, it was the fae!” Lydia yelled as she helped a limping Allison.

“What did they do to Derek?” Stiles demanded when they got him into the back of the Toyota. He climbed into the back, moving to kneel beside Derek as he inspected him.

“He shoved me out of the way,” Allison explained, moving to lean against the vehicle. “I don’t know what it was.”

“They said something about a helmet and a mouse,” Erica explained as she made her way over to the vehicle, heavily panting as she caught her breath.

“When the devil loses his helmet, a mouse becomes his bane,” Lydia recited as she tended to Allison’s leg.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed as he cradled Derek’s face in his hands.

“They threw a powdered dust at us,” Lydia added.

“Scott sneezed up a storm,” Isaac answered. “Boyd and I carried Derek out once we realized that whatever it was had the ability to neutralize an Alpha.”

“When the devil loses his helmet,” Stiles mumbled. “Devil … helmet … A mouse becomes his bane. Mousebane.” His eyes lit up as he looked at the others. “Devil’s helmet! Mousebane! It’s the same thing.”

“What?” Lydia demanded as she looked at Stiles.

“Aconitum,” Stiles answered, looking around for the bag Deaton had packed for them. “It’s aconitum! Fae have the ability to summon herbs for healing—flowers that can be used for poison!”

“What the hell is aconitum?” Erica asked, looking at Scott as he finally came running back.

“Monkshood!” Stiles yelled as he rummaged through the bag. “Wolfsbane!”

Lydia looked at Allison before turning to look at Stiles. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before moving to help Stiles. She quickly grabbed the vial of crushed wolfsbane to save it from crashing to the floor. She handed it to Stiles, watching him work.

Derek woke up to the cold metal of an examination table, recognizing the lights of the vet office. He grumbled at the itch across his skin, recalling the way the fae had thrown a dust cloud of wolfsbane in his face. He wished Scott was the one to get it in the face when he remembered that McCall was the one that trespassed into the fae’s sacred grounds. He blinked a few times, turning his head to see Stiles sitting on the counter, examining his hands. He liked the fact that Stiles was still wearing his jacket.

“Looks good on you,” Derek breathed as he moved to sit up.

Stiles, uncharacteristically, gracefully moved off of the counter, helping Derek to ease himself into a sitting position. “I don’t know if I pull off the leather look.”

“Fits your arms better than it does mine,” Derek answered.

Stiles smiled, looking down at the sleeves. “It’s kind of like a cover,” he commented. “It feels … safe.” He looked up at Derek. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” He softly laughed in an attempt to avoid acknowledging the blush on his cheeks.

“No,” Derek stated. “No, that’s exactly what it is,” he explained. “Feels like my family—pack—are still with me.”

Stiles nodded in agreement. He offered Derek a faint smile in return. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he softly stated. “I was … scared.”

“I had a feeling you’d figure it out,” Derek answered. He turned his hand, easily moving to hold onto Stiles’ arm.

Stiles didn’t pull back, allowing Derek to hold onto him. He instinctively gravitated towards him, looking up at Derek.

Derek’s thumb ran across Stiles’ skin, a gentle caress to know that it was real—that it wasn’t a hallucination brought on by the wolfsbane. Stiles was standing here talking to him with no extra fingers to say otherwise—this was real. “I’m glad you stayed back.”

Stiles nodded, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He suddenly was moving forward, his lips darting forward to press a kiss in the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Thanks for not dying,” he barely whispered. He pulled back before Derek could reply, the sound of the others talking—arguing—shattered the moment.

~*~

**3.**

_Sometimes I forget to wear shoes. It’s never really an inconvenience for me, as I’m not used to it to begin with, but sometimes the pack will notice. My feet do get cold, but I enjoy it. I’ve never felt anything like the numbness of my skin, the way it will prickle like pins whenever I quickly warm them. It makes me appreciate clothing. I think I started to forget shoes and socks more and more when the pack is around … when Derek is around. Derek let’s me wear his socks—they’re warm and soft against my skin._

_It’s nice to know someone cares._

“Stiles,” Erica called, her eyebrows furrowing as she stared at his feet. “Is there a reason you aren’t wearing shoes?”

Stiles looked down at his feet. “Crap,” he wrinkled his nose in reprimand when he noticed that he didn’t even have socks on. “I … forgot.”

“How did you forget?” Scott asked, arching his eyebrow at Stiles.

“I was running out of the house in a hurry. You know me—a millions thoughts running through my head,” Stiles offered.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Allison asked as she plopped down onto the couch.

“I’m always cold. I don’t think Derek knows what a heater is,” Stiles answered.

“I don’t run around barefoot,” Derek replied as he descended the spiral staircase.

“That’s a lie, I’ve seen you run around barefoot,” Stiles countered as he scrunched his toes into the small rug by the couch.

The meeting dragged on a few hours, the pack debating how to solve the new incidents happening around town. There was an increased set of outbursts happening that involved both trolls and the fae.

Stiles made a slightly awkward sound when a pair of clean socks hit him on the head. His hands scrambled to catch them, looking at them in a questioning manner. He looked at Derek, realizing that he had thrown them at him. He silently pulled them onto his feet, wiggling his toes against the warm wool. He smiled as the warmth and feeling came back to his feet, almost feeling light and strange.

Stiles went back to his book, leaning over the pages. He flipped through the book as he looked for another clue on how to handle the trolls, smiling to himself as he continually scrunched his toes.

“Stiles, is this your book?” Scott asked as he gestured towards his book. “Mon … monograph?”

Stiles’ body froze before he managed to scramble, snatching up the book. “It’s a joke—one that my mom had,” he explained. “My name in Polish—it has a connection to books and libraries. It’s connects to _meldować się_ , meaning checking in. Like when you check books in and out of a library. She … she called me her little monograph.”

Scott nodded, offering a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I was just wondering, man.”

_‘Monograph—derived from the Ancient Greek words, ‘mono’ and ‘grapho.’ It means to singularly write—to focus on a subject of life.’_

_Subject of life. Life is too vast to put into one subject._

_I wrote my own life—I carved my path. But I was never my own. I was never meant to have my own life._

~*~

**4.**

_Getting hurt was not as glamorous as Derek made it appear to be. I remember the way Derek sulked. I remember the way he yelled at me. I remember how perfectly his lips felt against mine—knowing I wanted more. What am I doing? I’m making this so much worse. It was easier knowing no one would mourn my loss—well, except dad. But he knows it’s coming. Derek doesn’t. I can’t do that to Derek—I won’t do that to Derek._

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Derek angrily reprimanded Stiles, for what felt like the millionth time.

“I know,” Stiles answered, wincing some when Derek pressed a cool cloth to his back. The pain disappeared immediately, and he knew Derek was draining it away. “I didn’t know it was going to … to burn me,” he explained, a shudder passing through his body. “I didn’t … I didn’t think fire was going to be a problem for me,” his lungs constricted.

Images of flames—dusted ash covering the floor—flashed through his mind. The feeling of crinkling, of his skin curling away from his body as the fire engulfed him.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice was firm as a pair of hands grasped Stiles’ face. “Stiles, look at me—focus on me,” he easily instructed him. He bent down to Stiles’ level, holding eye contact with him. “You’re having a panic attack.”

“No, I—”

“Trust me,” Derek answered, offering him a faint reassuring smile. “Focus. Breathe in time for me. Count your breaths.”

“Thanks,” Stiles finally mumbled once it seemed to pass.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Derek commented, his fingertips still touching Stiles’ face.

Stiles reached his hands up, taking Derek’s hands in his own. “Who knew trolls could throw magic,” he offered in a faint laugh.

“Who knew trolls and fae would go to war,” Derek replied.

“Thank you,” Stiles suddenly stated. “For not leaving—for noticing that … ”

“You might still be suffering from one. If could flare up again,” Derek explained, aware that Stiles’ thumbs were pressing faint circles into his skin.

“They tend to do that,” Stiles replied. “It’s weird to think that I can even get them.”

“Panic attacks can happen to anyone, Stiles,” Derek offered in reassurance. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Stiles explained. “I just … I never really thought that I’d have one,” he explained. “I’m not accustomed to thinking that things that happen to most people will happen to me. I mean, I hope they do. I really want to say that I lived, you know? That I took chances and managed to have a life worth writing a story about—that I’m not going to regret anything when I can’t live on. I guess I want a part of me to last.” He drew in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, I get it,” Derek replied with understanding. “You want to know that you lived to the fullest. I used to think like that.”

“Used to?” Stiles curiously asked.

“After the fire … after Laura, I just gave up, really.” Derek looked down at his hands, liking the way Stiles’ held onto them. “Part of me didn’t want to keep living—that I didn’t deserve to live a life when so many others couldn’t. But since becoming the Alpha—having a pack—has changed that. It makes me want to have a life. _You_ make me want to have a life.”

“Thank fuck,” Stiles breathed, leaning forward and kissing Derek.

Derek partially smiled, even when Stiles pulled back with a wince.

“It’s not a good idea to leap forward when I have a giant burn on my back,” Stiles explained.

Derek moved to the side, examining Stiles’ back. “Deaton’s salve is working,” he offered. His fingertips lingered on the curve of Stiles’ shoulder blade. There were a series of scarred, punctured holes in two parallel lines bracketing Stiles’ spine. Derek let his fingers brush over them, aware of how Stiles pushed back into his touch. He didn’t ask, only continued to drain Stiles’ pain away.

_I thought he knew. In that moment, I really thought he knew—that he accepted it without concern or worry. That I was the one he wanted, regardless of everything._

~*~

**5.**

_I wanted nothing more than Derek to tell me it didn’t matter—that he’d accept me; that he’d fight for me. That’s why I wanted to have prom with him. Why I wanted nothing more than to share what could be my last day with him._

Derek knew he wasn’t supposed to hear Stiles and Scott, both of them foolishly thinking that Derek couldn’t hear through the loft door.

“Did you ask Derek out yet?” Scott questioned.

“No,” Stiles stated. “My dad said … he said I couldn’t,” he explained. “He said Derek was—” He released a dejected sigh. “That Derek and I weren’t a good fit.”

Something in Derek’s chest constricted. Stiles had asked the Sheriff about dating him, and the Sheriff said no. It didn’t surprise Derek—part of Derek knew that anyone who had an inkling about his past would automatically say he wasn’t good enough for anyone. And Derek agreed that he wasn’t good enough for Stiles.

Derek took pity on himself, yanking the door open. He noticed the way Stiles startled. “We should get going,” he gruffly stated, ignoring the way Stiles looked after him.

“Derek,” Stiles called after him, quickly making his way across the loft and up the spiral staircase, after Derek. He was glad that Derek paused half-way, making it somewhat easier for Stiles to confront it while still in a familiar room. “I had a question for you.”

“Can’t it wait?” Derek almost snapped, sighing and pulling his wolf in as he calmed himself. “Sorry … but, can it wait?” He asked softer this time.

“It’s about next week,” Stiles offered. “About prom, actually,” he stated. “About you … maybe wanting to go … with me, if I asked you to go?” A blush spread across his cheeks, a blotchy red mess decorating his skin here and there.

“I can’t,” Derek stated.

“Oh,” Stiles frowned, his stomach dropping. “Okay, um. I hope this doesn’t change anything. Like, you feeling weird around me or—”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” Derek quickly countered. “I legally can’t.”

Stiles arched his eyebrow at Derek, a small hopeful expression pulling at his features.

“I’m 23. The cut off age is 21,” Derek explained.

“That’s … that’s stupid!” Stiles exclaimed.

“It’s still the rules,” Derek replied. “It … it’d be nice. And I’m sorry I can’t. I’d like to,” he offered Stiles a faint smile.

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles answered. “If you wouldn’t mind … I’d like to spend my birthday with you.”

Derek stared at Stiles, uncertain by his meaning.

“If I can’t spend prom with you—which is on my birthday, if you can believe it—then I’d like to at least spend it with you.”

“Wouldn’t you want to spend it with Scott?” Derek asked as he looked at Scott. He noticed the way Scott immediately turned his back towards them—an attempt to give them false privacy.

“I spend it with him every year,” Stiles answered. “Plus, he has a date for prom. Prom isn’t that great of an idea and I’m not going to miss it. I’d rather spend it with you—well, technically not prom, since you can’t go with me. But my birthday, that’s even better.”

“If you … want to,” Derek answered, feeling a bit uneasy having heard that the Sheriff didn’t approve of Stiles even asking him out—let alone actually spending time with him.

“I’d love to,” Stiles admitted with a shy smile.

Derek offered a similar smile and faint nod.

Stiles couldn’t stop smiling to himself for the rest of the meeting. Every now and again, the smile would pull at his lips, at the reminder that he had a date with Derek next week—on his birthday.

_Derek, did you think I was different? Did you care that I was different? I don’t think I can tell you all this in person—I don’t think I can handle how you’ll look at me. I want you to know that I never intended to trick you, or the pack._

_And last night … Derek, the other night meant so much. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. You’d try to fix it—you’d try to fix me._

Stiles smiled at Derek as he stood outside the loft door. “Ta-da,” he held up the boutonniere in a small plastic box.

Derek offered a faint snort in response, taking the box from Stiles.

“It’s technically prom night, so I thought I would get it for you,” Stiles explained as he reached out to open the box. He smiled as he took the boutonniere out to pin to Derek’s henley.

“I would have worn a jacket,” Derek commented as he looked down at the flower.

“I don’t think my heart could handle seeing you in a tux or jacket,” Stiles honestly stated.

Derek allowed a small smile to pull at his lips, catching sight of the matching boutonniere pinned to Stiles’ plaid shirt. It wasn’t formal; it wasn’t technically prom. But it was them—it was perfect.

Stiles had blushed a dark crimson when Derek asked him if he wanted to dance—at least once—before the night ended. He immediately jumped at the offer, yanking Derek up off the couch. He watched as Derek easily pushed the couch to the side, moving it out of their way. He released a faint laugh, an attempt to lessen his shyness, when Derek took his hand and pulled him close.

The melody of the song pushed them forward. It was a strong, swift beat that relied on the deep rasp of the singer’s voice. It was uniquely them.

Stiles continuously looked between them, trying to see his feet. He didn’t want to step on Derek’s feet, or cause one of them to trip. He looked up at Derek and offered an unsure smile. He let Derek lead him through the movements. He closed the gap between them, their chests pressed together as he rested his head against Derek’s shoulder. He turned his face away from Derek, his eyes catching the various walls and decor of the loft—committing it all to memory.

Derek looked at the moles decorating Stiles’ pale skin, pausing by one scattering in particular. A series of moles decorated the inside curve of Stiles’ throat. “Some of these are pretty dark,” he commented.

Stiles pulled back, trying to hide the moles from Derek’s view. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They aren’t as bad as most people’s. They just look dark,” he offered a faint laugh.

“Like ink,” Derek breathed, looking up at Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes were soft, his face open and welcoming to Derek. There was a look of wonderment covering his features as he scanned Derek’s face. “Yeah … like ink,” he agreed with a faint nod. He moved back in to rest his head against Derek’s shoulder once more.

“Derek?”

“Hm?”

“In case I do forget,” Stiles started, his fingernails digging into the fabric of Derek’s henley. “This is the greatest night of my life. It really is. And I wanted you to know that. No matter what happens at the end of tonight—well, I’ve had a really nice time.”

Derek smiled, pressing his nose into the hairline just behind Stiles’ ear. “Me too.”

~*~

_Derek,_

_If you’ve gotten this far, you pretty much know everything. I don’t know how tomorrow is going to go over—I’m going to lie … I’m going to find a way to lie to you without you hearing it in my heart. I know that’s mean of me, but I’m hoping you can forgive me for it. I’m doing it so you’ll give me enough time to go; to disappear. To me … I’m dying. It seems pretty dumb to think that someone could consider one thing death, when there is a dictionary definition for what death is._

_‘A permanent cessation of all vital functions; the passing or destruction of something inanimate.’ It’s laughable, really. I wasn’t meant to live, Derek. I wasn’t meant to have all the experiences I did. I wasn’t meant to … love. I wasn’t meant to fall in love with you. I did. And I’m sorry that I caused you unnecessary pain. You don’t deserve that—you don’t deserve any of the horrible things that have happened to you. I wish I could rewrite it all for you—give you a better, more deserving ending._

_I won’t be seeing you again—not after tomorrow. I won’t be seeing Scott or the rest of the pack, either. My dad won’t even get to see me again. So, yes, in a way, I am dying after I turn 18. It meant the world to me, Derek, that you spent my birthday with me—that you let me have a prom; a first and last dance._

_I really did return all those feelings … I wanted to spend the rest of your life with you, if you’d let me. And then I realized that I couldn’t ask you to do that—that I couldn’t be with you. I wasn’t meant to live, Derek. I’m nothing more than a wish that was granted to the Stilinskis. I’m not … real._

_I didn’t know, Derek. I swear, if I knew, I would have told you before all of it really happened. After tonight, the fae and trolls won’t be a problem—I’m taking care of it. The fae will go far from here, the trolls in pursuit of them. And me … I’ll be gone as well._

_I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry that I fell in love with you. I knew I wasn’t supposed to. I just wanted to know what it felt like. I was selfish and wanted to experience love at least once._

_I’ll always be Stiles to you, and that’s all I could hope for._

_Always yours,_

_M._

~*~

**\+ 1.**

Derek immediately gathered everyone. He didn’t let them look inside the book—it was personal, a connection between him and Stiles. He waited for the Sheriff to arrive, leaving everyone in suspense.

“Stiles is missing,” Derek started.

The Sheriff seemed unaffected. “I know,” he finally admitted, shocking everyone but Derek.

“You knew he was gone?” Lydia asked in surprise. “But … you said you didn’t know.”

“And I don’t know where he went,” the Sheriff answered. “Just that he left.”

“Why wouldn’t you stop him?”

“I knew since the day he was born that he would leave after his 18th birthday,” the Sheriff stated.

“He wrote me an apology,” Derek stated, gesturing towards the journal. “He said that he was sorry for everything—for being our friend. He didn’t want it to be difficult.”

“I’m lost,” Scott confessed. “What does this have to do with Stiles leaving?”

“The fae,” the Sheriff explained. “The fae have untold magic written in spells and incantations scattered across the realm. With different human sparks, there are books of this knowledge handed down from generation to generation. The trolls you’ve had run-ins with are after those books. They want the power that comes with that knowledge.”

“And Stiles … what? Has one of these books?” Erica asked.

The Sheriff looked at Derek, a look of understanding shared between them. He knew it was more than likely that Derek knew—that Stiles found a way to tell Derek. “Claudia and I … we couldn’t have kids,” the Sheriff softly confided in Derek. “But Claudia … she worked, day and night, on her magic. She said that it was worth it when she was diagnosed—that it’d be like there was a part of her still around. She was right, he’s so much like her,” he fondly commented.

“Sheriff, you’re saying that your wife … _made_ Stiles? Conjured a child from her magic? From one of these books?” Lydia questioned, the first to break the almost private conversation the Sheriff was having with Derek.

“She didn’t _conjure_ him,” the Sheriff answered. He released a heavy sigh. “She created Stiles from her book of fae.”

“How is that not the same—”

“Stiles is a book,” Derek suddenly stated, turning to stare out the window. He could tell the others were staring at him. “Little monograph,” he turned to look at the pack—at the Sheriff. “He was trying to tell us.”

“Part of the spell is that if Stiles admits to being what he is … he’ll turn back into it,” the Sheriff replied. “Claudia didn’t realize that she was creating a life—she thought it was going to be a physical manifestation of a book. But when the incantation was done, and the smoke cleared … there was just a baby.” He released a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his features. “Claudia spoke with the fae—they weren’t happy with her creating a life from their book. They didn’t want a human to live with a mastery of all their secrets.”

“Where is Stiles?” Scott asked in concern.

“I didn’t think he’d go—not without saying goodbye,” the Sheriff answered. “But if he left Derek this,” he held up the journal. “And he didn’t say goodbye to any of you … then he went to see the fae. He’s returning himself.”

“Returning himself?” Lydia’s voice was filled with derision. “He … He’s _not_ a book! He’s a human being!”

“The fae demanded that Claudia end the life she gave to her book,” the Sheriff explained. “She sacrificed her spark in order to keep Stiles. They gave her until his 18th birthday. After that, he was to return to them.”

“And if he didn’t?” Scott asked.

“Then war,” the Sheriff answered.

“That’s why the fae were attacking us,” Allison replied. “They thought we were trying to keep Stiles from them.”

“He should have told us,” Scott angrily stated. “We would have protected him.”

“He didn’t think it was worth it,” Derek answered. “He thought it’d be easier to live a full life in those 18 years than to bother finding a loophole,” he shook his head. “That is such a Stiles thing to do.”

“If he’s with the fae—” Erica bit back her words.

“There is no telling where they took him,” Lydia finished. “He knew so much,” she sorrowfully commented. “How could he not know how to break it—that we’d help him break it?”

“He’d rather us have a happy last couple of days together rather than spend them worrying about him,” Derek replied.

“We’re getting him back,” Lydia defiantly stated marching over to the bookshelf. “I don’t care how long it takes. The fae rotate where they migrate to. They’ll come back here—we’ll use the Nemeton as a beacon to draw them back if we have to.”

“Stiles said to let him go,” Isaac sorrowfully commented. “I don’t want to, just as much as you guys, but … if we activate the Nemeton, more creatures could show up.”

“We have to be careful about this,” Scott partially agreed. “But we’re not going to let them have him.”

Derek turned to look out the window. The moon was bright, a strong calling for him to run. He wanted to run away from it—from the reality that they lost Stiles. It didn’t matter if they could find the fae, because there was no guarantee that they would hear them out. There was no guarantee that Stiles was still Stiles.

~*~

**Months later …**

“The pool …” Derek started, clearing his throat as he focused on the road. “He jumped in to save me.”

“It’s not really his fear of water that keeps him away,” the Sheriff explained. “He … he really is similar to a book. He almost … warps in a way, afterwards. He hid under towels and blankets for hours after that night in the pool, trying to dry all the water off his skin.”

“How do we know he’s still him?” Derek asked as his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“We don’t,” the Sheriff sadly answered. “But it’s worth fighting.”

Derek kept silent for the rest of the ride. They were headed a few towns over, searching out the fae’s hideaways. It wasn’t hard to find them, their magic creating a stir with the supernatural residents there.

~*~

“The book is ours,” the fae stubbornly answered when Derek demanded to know where Stiles was. “He came to us as he should, which was why we left—those were his terms.”

“Terms?” Scott questioned.

“He made us promise,” the fae answered. “He wouldn’t come with us unless we agree to leave—allow the trolls to follow us away from your town and pack.”

“Why are the trolls after you?” Lydia asked.

“They want the book as well,” the fae explained.

“His name is Stiles,” Derek growled, growing increasingly hostile every time the fae referred to Stiles as a book.

“Regardless, he has returned to his true form,” the fae answered. “The debt is no more. We have no fight with the Hale pack.”

“The Hale pack has a fight with you,” Derek barked as he pushed passed Scott.

“Derek, don’t piss them off,” Erica faintly whispered to her Alpha.

“You took my packmate,” Derek stated. “You _stole_ a packmate from the Alpha of Beacon Hills. That alone is grounds for war.”

The fae started to murmur to one another, uncertain how to proceed with that knowledge.

“He didn’t say he was part of a pack,” the fae finally replied.

“How would you know? You didn’t know anything about him,” Derek snapped.

“He’s a book once more, what use have you for him?” The fae questioned.

“Turn him back,” Scott replied as he moved to flank beside Derek. “Claudia used her magic to change him, surely you can mirror that.”

“We can’t,” the fae answered. A few of the fae flew forward, carrying a pale colored book, stray ink droplets sprayed over the cover. There was slight warpness to the book as a whole, the binding having holes pierced through it in order for twine to hold it together. Derek knew that if he looked, he would see remnants of a burn along the spine of the pages. “As you can see, it is in delicate condition.”

Derek’s eyes flared as his fangs elongated, he released a loud roar at the fae. He paused, pulling himself back when Scott grabbed his arm.

“Since you can’t turn him back, you can give us the book,” Lydia answered as she stepped forward, holding her hands outstretched.

The fae hesitated, turning to look at one another.

“Alpha Hale,” Lydia started, turning to look at Derek. “Will you allow their offense to go unpunished if they return our Monograph to us?” She gave Derek an expectant look.

Derek nodded, allowing his fangs to disappear. “I’ll forgive your insult, if you give us … _Monograph_.”

~*~

Derek allowed Scott to drive back. He quietly sat in the back of the Camaro, his eyes fixed on the book delicately resting in his lap. His fingertips moved across the cover as he tried to think of a way to get Stiles back. He hesitated in opening the book, unsure if it would offend Stiles to know that he glimpse at what was written on his pages. It was difficult to think that he was holding Stiles in his hands.

The pages were gorgeously designed, ink constantly in movement to form different words and paragraphs. The letters tumbled rhythmically, forming an endless amount of information being handed over to the reader. He flipped to the end, stopping on the page of a lone wolf, rearing its head back to howl at the moon in the distance. It was the only image that was still—as if it had been frozen in time, meant to be seen by Derek. A series of words fell beside the wolf.

‘ _Wolves aren’t meant to be packless, just like books aren’t meant to be coverless; a sour wolf is not a happy one, a dusty book is not a valued one; a rugged man in leather adorned, is nothing like an unwrapped book mourned._ ’

Derek stared at the words, certain it was another mockery of the fae. Another strange riddle to taunt Derek with the knowledge that he’d never see Stiles again. But the way it was written—playful, almost flirtatious in nature—suggested that it was a parting gift from Stiles.

The entire pack stayed that night, all of them tiring themselves with thoughts on how to solve it, certain the riddle was the solution to changing Stiles back.

“ _Wolves aren’t meant to be packless, just like books aren’t meant to be coverless_ ,” Lydia repeated. “That’s referring to one thing—a lone wolf … But also that a book should have a cover.”

“Okay, I’m certain that it’s referring to Derek in the next line,” Allison answered as she continued to draw lines and conclusions on her pad of paper. “ _A sour wolf is not a happy one, a dusty book is not a valued one_ ,” she read. “A sour wolf—Derek in this case,” she offered him a faint smile. “Isn’t happy that Stiles is gone. And a book should be in good condition if it’s valued … so maybe we need to prove that we value Stiles as a packmate to transform him back?”

“Stiles,” Derek suddenly stated. “If I’m the wolf in this comparison, than Stiles is the book,” he uttered as he looked at Lydia.

“You’re a wolf with a pack, and Stiles—in book form—doesn’t have a cover,” Lydia pointed out.

“That line is talking about singularity, as well,” Derek stated. “Stiles said that a monograph was written by a singular thing—that he was writing about a life.”

“Little Monograph,” the Sheriff softly uttered.

“You’re not happy because Stiles was gone, and Stiles’ book form is vulnerable to harm,” Allison added as she looked at Derek.

“Then what’s the answer?” Scott asked.

“ _A rugged man in leather adorned_ ,” Erica read. “Well, that’s clearly Derek.”

“ _Is nothing like an unwrapped book mourned_ ,” Boyd thoughtfully finished.

“We mourned Stiles for leaving,” Isaac offered. “If we’re continuing with Stiles being the book in this riddle.”

“An unwrapped book … ” Derek muttered, turning to pace a little. He paused his movements when the journal caught the corner of his eye. The leather covering was neatly placed underneath the journal. “Book wrapping … Dust jacket,” he whispered. “Dust jacket!” He almost yelled, startling the rest of the pack.

“What?” Lydia asked.

“It’s a dust jacket,” Derek stated. “No … It’s my jacket,” he hurried over to his bed, snatching his jacket up from where he discarded it earlier. “I told Stiles earlier that my jacket still felt like pack—like I wasn’t an Omega when I had it. He said it felt like a cover when he was wearing it.”

Part of Derek felt foolish, seeing how ridiculous the book— _Stiles_ —looked wrapped up in his jacket. He placed them down on the couch, the entire pack staring.

“When will we know it worked?” Lydia questioned.

“It took Claudia all night,” the Sheriff offered.

Out of everyone, Derek was the last one to drift off to sleep. He struggled to stay awake, his eyes fighting him as he bobbed his head a few times. He tried to keep his eyes open, straining them to focus on his leather jacket and the small object it was wrapped around.

When Derek woke, his jacket was gone. He startled awake, his eyes dashing about the room, his ears perking when he heard movement upstairs. He didn’t bother to wake the others, bolting up the spiral staircase when he noticed that Stiles was gone as well. He halted in the doorway to the spare bedroom—the room he stored his dresser and closet in. He was frozen to his spot, recognizing the messy array of brown hair and pale skin decorated in moles slipping into a pair of his sweatpants.

“Stiles,” Derek weakly called.

Stiles immediately turned around, sweatpants hanging precariously low on his hips as he pulled the leather jacket around his body. “I was naked,” he muttered in embarrassment. “I just wanted to—”

Derek was already hugging Stiles before he could think of finishing his sentence. “I was right,” he softly breathed against Stiles’ hair, holding him close. His jacket was an anchor, for both him and Stiles. It was a tie that bound them together.

“I didn’t know if it would work,” Stiles answered. “I’m glad it did.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped looking for one,” Derek stated.

“You … you don’t care?” Stiles shyly asked.

“No,” Derek stated as he pulled back to look at Stiles. “Never.”

“I’m a book,” Stiles weakly argued.

“Do you like being a book?” Derek asked with a faint arch of his eyebrow.

“No,” Stiles lightly laughed. “Not even a little bit. I like being human—I like being here, with you,” he admitted as he tightened his hold on Derek.

“I like you being here, too,” Derek stated. He selfishly held onto Stiles, not wanting to let him go. He was happy when Stiles hugged him back with equal sentiments.

~*~

**Bonus + 2.**

“Would you have kissed me still if I was a book?” Stiles thoughtfully asked one lazy Sunday morning.

“I think people would be afraid of me even more if they saw me making out with a book.”

Stiles smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to Derek’s lips. “I missed you— _this_ ,” he stated. “I missed these,” he added as he reached a hand up, brushing his fingertips against Derek’s lips.

“They missed you.”

Stiles couldn’t help the small snort of laughter that bubbled up. “I’m a book, not a typewriter. I know cheesy romance dialogue when I hear it.”

“Shut up,” Derek lightly growled as he moved to kiss Stiles once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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